


I'm Only Mean Because I'm Me

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Gen, Humor, Staff Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Rufus wanted was to have his rival killed...how hard could it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Only Mean Because I'm Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



> A much belated treat for the Rare Characters Exchange 2014. I blame a lot of things (but mostly myself) for making this take ages, but I finally managed! Anyway, I hope you enjoy, karanguni!

In Rufus’ opinion, executive meetings were imbecilic. The heads of departments sat across from each other in one of his father’s pompous meeting rooms and lobbed platitudes at their heads. No one ever said anything of consequence, because nobody wanted to share the details of what they were doing with the others. Agreement only ever happened when someone threatened the collective power of Shinra. All of them were eager to keep the privileges his father had given them.

Rufus sometimes amused himself by mentally cataloguing who he’d keep, who’d need to be disposed of and who could be useful if he held the reins at Shinra. Some of the people in this room would be in for a nasty surprise. Now if only his father did him a favour and would hurry up and die. The old man was barely on top of things.

One of the heads of the Science Department had just had another go at Administrative Research, doubting the effectiveness of the department when one considered the amounts of money invested in a bunch of glorified babysitters, bouncers, and drivers that would be far better off when used to advance research in Mako and its uses. Granted, none of the other departments were too happy about the chunk Administrative Research took out of the budget, but you had to pay your assassins well to ensure their happiness and loyalty. 

Veld had sent in Tseng and Reno to sit in the meeting in his stead and Reno was already halfway out of his seat, EMR in hand and ready to demonstrate his effectiveness. Rufus idly thought it would make things more interesting at least, but Tseng interfered and pulled Reno back by his arm. Shame.

“Stop it,” Tseng hissed and Reno sat back down, looking murderous. 

Meanwhile, Lazard Deusericus had taken it upon himself to play mediator and urge the idiot in the lab coat to calm down (whatever his name was; Rufus had no interest in keeping up with the spineless minions Hojo sent to meetings because the man considered himself beyond emerging from his dungeon to explain his budgeting).

“We all have to be grateful that Administrative Research exists, they work hard to make our lives easier,” Lazard chimes in his most pompous manner, smiling at Tseng who inclined his head in gratitude. SOLDIER and Turks might often butt heads among their members, but Lazard loved to be buddies with Veld and even more so with Tseng. 

The Turks were Rufus’ territory and Deusericus would do well if he stayed the hell away from them. Just imagining him and Tseng sipping coffee together, discussing mission strategies at their leisure set Rufus teeth on edge. Lazard was trying to gain an advantage for sure. For all his over-the-top pleasant exterior, there was something off about him.

What it was that rubbed Rufus the wrong way, he couldn’t say. For as long as he could remember, Lazard put him on edge more than any other man his father employed. In many ways, Deusericus was a model executive: polite, courteous to the president, not trying to sift money into his own pockets (which reminded Rufus that one of the Turks needed to have Words –with a capital W– with Hollander about that outrageous trip budget for Corel last month) and on the surface, he had no bigger agenda than any other in this room. His sob story obsession with slum children could count as an agenda, but even that looked good on the outside. The Director of SOLDIER caring for the poor always made for a good headline. Not that Rufus understood Lazard’s preoccupation with the people under the plate. For all that Rufus cared, they could keep rotting in the slums.

Deusericus told a stupid joke about a Chocobo and a Cactuar to stop the science monkey and Reno bashing their heads in (no question who would have won that match) and even his father laughed as if it’s the grandest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it was – his father’s sense of humour was appalling at best. Normally, Heidegger was the one cracking jokes around the President’s office and with that moron as a jester, your senses had to dull eventually. 

Rufus doesn’t even pretend to crack a smile. Neither do Tseng and Reno, bless their cynical selves. Not that anyone in the room expected the Turks to laugh at a joke, they had a reputation of danger to maintain.

Reputations were important in this place. Of course he’d heard of the rumours flying around the Tower: how surprisingly quick Lazard had risen through the ranks, despite his humble background and how much they were reminded of Rufus when they looked at Deusericus. 

Rufus never disregarded gossip; some of the lowlife secretaries (who had not much more to do than whispering secrets to each other over the water dispenser) sometimes heard things simply because no one ever paid them any heed. 

So he’d made the Turks dig. Subtle, of course, but the Turks knew how to spy on Shinra employees without being noticed. It was part of their job description (and precisely why no one in the company trusted them). He’d put Reno and Rude on the job – while their talents laid more with explosions and extracting information in creative ways, Reno was also skilled with computers and Rude imposing enough to receive intel without bashing a skull or two in. Not that he generally disapproved of bashed skulls, but they weren’t exactly subtle.

What they had uncovered had been interesting enough. In the city’s databases, Reno had found evidence that Lazard’s birth certificate likely had been doctored a few months after his birth, changing the entry for the parentage. The prior entry was purged from the records, if there had been one. Rude’s investigation in the part of the slums where Lazard grew up in revealed that the man named as his father had died – a year before Lazard’s birth. Which made conception rather interesting, in Rufus’ opinion. There were no records of the supposed father’s death (which wasn’t unusual in the slums; you only went to get paperwork if you cared enough for it), but he’d run a small junk yard, so people in the neighbourhood remembered him. Apparently, he’d conducted a relationship with the mother prior to his death.

For a long time, Rufus had suspected there were a number of Shinra bastards running around Midgar; the old man hadn’t had a reputation for being the most faithful of husbands. Must have been a relief for him when mother had died, leaving him free to surround himself with whores. The thought made him furious. Rufus gripped his pen harder, wishing he could just grab his shotgun and be done with it. A nice load into both of their annoying faces. And while he was at it, he could shoot that lazy sod Palmer, too. The Space Programme was a waste of time and money anyway.

One of his father’s bastards in the executive ranks of Shinra felt like a personal affront. Dangling it in front of his face, threatening what was legally his. It wouldn’t do, so Lazard had to go. But the man was unusually set on staying alive and in the way.

The reports were burning a metaphorical hole in a drawer in his desk, mocking him even when the lid was closed.

  


* * *

  


  
**Mission B-4587D – Status: Failed**

Target was locked in at 263 metres distance from an elevated structure at 1654 hours. Shot fired at 1656 hours. Target missed due to technical challenges. Second attempt not executed, target aware. Mission aborted.

_“Technical challenges? What technical challenges?” Rufus asks, narrowing his eyes at the Turk recruit practically grovelling at his desk. Junior recruit, hasn’t been with the team very long, but that makes it easier for Rufus to intimidate him. Top marks at the shooting range with a rifle though, which is why Rufus picked him._

_“The target moved just as I took the shot,” the recruit blabbers._

_“How could he have moved out of range? The report says he was seated!” Rufus hisses, waving the sheet with the report in front of the man’s face._

_“He...his fork fell down and he picked it up. I couldn’t take a second shot, Vice President, sir. The first round hit the window, passers by were aware a bullet had been fired!”_

_Rufus knows it’s true. A second attempt would have drawn too much attention. It doesn’t stop him from making the recruit wash the helicopters for a week._

  


* * *

  


  
**Mission 4-4D5GH - Status: Aborted**

Observation commenced at 0922 hours at target residence. Target participates in two strategic meetings in secluded rooms in company of numerous witnesses. At 1208 hours, target leaves building, approach set for 1211 hours. Operative approaches target as planned, is forced to abort prematurely.

_”Forced to abort how?” Rufus asks, walking up and down his office with impatient steps. The day is lousy as it is: Dark Nation is in a foul mood and has nearly bitten off Rufus’ hand twice, the air conditioning on his floor is broken, forcing him to abandon his suit jacket, scarf and waistcoat (he looks like he’s participating in a moronic ‘casual Wednesday’ event)._

Cissnei stands at ease in his office, following Rufus’ movements with her eyes before she gears up the nerve to speak.

__

“He was in company, sir,” she explains. “He was expected to be alone, the witness would have been inconvenient.”

__

“Then get rid of the witness, that’s your job,” Rufus snaps back. Since when did he have to order a Turk to eliminate anyone who might have seen something they shouldn’t have?

__

“That was not an option, I’m afraid.”

__

Rufus feels like he’s pulling teeth and it irritates him. “Why?”

__

“He was in the company of General Sephiroth, sir. I felt that eliminating the General is outside my abilities.”

__

No matter that it was outside of anyone’s abilities to eliminate Sephiroth, the woman has the gall to be cheeky. Feeding her to Dark Nation sounds tempting, but he has no doubt he’d have to deal with Veld if he followed through with it. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with Veld on top of his broken air conditioning today.

__  


* * *

  


  
**Mission 7-P46B5 - Status: Failed**  
Target under observation, conversing with several subjects related to occupation. At 2116 hours, target leaves room for bathroom break, poison is administered to target’s drink. Target returns at 2119 hours and reclaims drink. Poison is not ingested.

_Rufus is there himself to see it fail right before his eyes – the sheer dumb luck that keeps Lazard alive. It’s one of his father’s precious company events where he throws enough money at anyone who yields just a smidgen of influence on the planet. Rufus hates these events, but is present at his father’s insistence and his interest in seeing the Director of SOLDIER drop dead at his feet._

_He’s put Rod to the task of administering the poison. The Turks are acting as part of the security, so it isn’t even suspicious to see them move through the crowds. Rufus has had a glass of Champagne poured, already feeling celebratory. The science department is full of untraceable poisons and as the Vice-President, Rufus has access to everything he pleased and nobody would ask any questions. How come he hasn’t thought of poison before?_

_When Lazard leaves for the bathroom, Rufus gets rid of the ditzy woman who’s been trying to compliment her way into his good graces. Tells her in no uncertain terms he’s not interested and would she please get lost before she catches a bullet. Unsurprisingly, she scrambles, the look in her eyes of someone who isn’t quite sure if the threat was a joke. (It’s not.)_

_Rufus sees Rod pass the table Lazard’s been standing at with Heidegger and Scarlet and then slip out behind some curtains. Excellent._

_Lazard reappears shortly after, joining Heidegger’s and Scarlet’s conversation. Heidegger’s laughter echoes through the whole room and he pats Lazard’s shoulder with enough force to make the drink in his hand slosh dangerously. Lazard is a bit unsteady on his feet from the pat and no doubt from prior drinks, swaying back a step – and colliding with one of the waiters carrying a platter full of flutes of Champagne._

_The platter drops and about thirty glasses crash to the ground. Lazard manages to slosh his drink all over his suit before he helps up the shaken waiter, apologising profusely for at least five minutes. The other guests are so preoccupied with the scene that nobody notices that Rufus nearly crushes his own glass of Champagne in his hand._

__

After the spilled drink, Lazard deems it best to retire for the evening, thinking he might have had too much already.

__

Seldom has Rufus had a stronger impulse to punch someone or something. He’d shoot at the wall in his flat later, just so he won’t take it out on the Turk (who technically isn’t at fault, but he wants a scapegoat).

__

  


* * *

  


Rufus snapped his pencil in two earning him a reproachful look from his father who seemed to think Rufus was breaking utensils to interrupt his speech. If anything, Rufus would try and sleep during his father’s dronings, that’s how inconsequential they were. After this meeting, he’d need to go back to Junon and recuperate from the countless meetings with the old man he’s had to endure. It’s a miracle they hadn’t tried to kill each other yet (which is mostly down to them ignoring the other as much as they could).

Three seats down, Lazard was looking at his father as if in reverence, hanging onto the old man’s every word. He _had_ to get rid of him. Sending Reno or Tseng after him would yield better results, but there were dangers to sending out senior officers for intra-company assassinations. There was always the chance of his orders being tweaked, skirted around or reinterpreted. A rookie wouldn’t dare to veer in any other direction than they were told, but officers like Tseng, Rude or Reno have been doing this long enough to know what they could get away with. If they decided Lazard was better off alive than dead, they’d find a way around it. Rufus couldn’t allow Lazard to slip through his fingers.

Did AVALANCHE also branch out into assassinations?


End file.
